


Soft

by AlessaGreenwood



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Body Image, Body Worship, Chubby!Aziraphale, Er...corsets?, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 11:04:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19828849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlessaGreenwood/pseuds/AlessaGreenwood
Summary: After Gabriel tells Aziraphale to lose the gut, the angel becomes a tad self-conscious about his corporeal form. Crowley does something about that.





	Soft

Change was a natural and inevitable thing. Time moved ever onward and with it came newness as contemporary innovation shaped the modern world. That in mind, Aziraphale was not one who kept up on the latest trends. Progress was often lost on him, the angel did like to wear clothes that had fallen out of style nearly a century ago. So when he invited Crowley into the bookshop one afternoon for tea in a fresh suit of a different cut and design the demon took immediate note of it. 

The color palette remained in its specific range of shades and hues, from ivory and cream to smatterings of pale blue or rose. Aziraphale still wore a finely tailored jacket over a fitted waistcoat but there was something off about it. Crowley glared at the garment, intent on discerning what exactly looked wrong about it. It took only a moment for him to figure it out but once he did he could not hide his bewilderment.

"Is that a _corset_?" Crowley blurted out, fully aware of the slight crack in his questioning tone. Aziraphale cleared his throat, a completely unnecessary gesture for an angel, and tugged at the hem of his frightfully old fashioned stay. 

The brocade article of clothing fit a little too snugly beneath his bust and appeared to stop just above the groin. It had far too many little pearl buttons, most of which were likely pure decoration rather than for providing some practical use. The clasps keeping the blasted thing closed were probably on the back, following the line of the angel's spine. Aziraphale had never been that daring with his attire; perhaps during the 18th century he did enjoy the foppish looks of the day but this was different. Just last week he had been wearing a respectable waistcoat, switching to a girdle was an odd step backward in fashion's time. Crowley himself had sported a corset or two in the past because he liked the way they looked, the way they looked on _him_ to be specific, Aziraphale wasn't the kind to be interested in such physically restraining garments.

"Ah, yes," Aziraphale started, turning his eyes downwards, then to his left, and then his right. Anywhere but in Crowley's direction. "You see, I thought perhaps..." His murmured words trailed off into incomprehensible muttering. Crowley frowned.

"You thought...?" His tone raised just a touch with his implied question. Aziraphale pursed his lips, squared his shoulders and looked straight into Crowley's shielded, steady gaze. 

"I thought I should do something about my...softness," The angel divulged in a strangled voice. "My gut is just so _disgraceful_ , really, Lord knows I should be in better shape but--" 

Crowley's sense of hearing suddenly became sharply acute while the rest of the world blurred around the edges the moment Aziraphale began to verbally tear himself down. He stood there in a stupor as he listened to the angel call himself disgraceful, call his corporeal form fat, and soon self-deprecating insults tumbled together until Crowley could only pick out words like _incompetent, mediocre, weak_. Where this sudden deluge of inadequacy came from he had no idea, until Aziraphale said the name Gabriel.

The sound of the Archangel's name was like a firecracker in Crowley's ear, loud and jarring and wholly unwelcome. In just a few long strides Crowley was before Aziraphale, glaring down at the stammering angel. Aziraphale quieted, stilled and waited for whatever reaction Crowley had in store for him. He had not expected the demon to wrap his arms around him but that momentary amazement was nothing compared to the utter shock at feeling quick fingers unclasp the fasteners under Aziraphale's jacket.

"Crowley! What in Heaven's name--" Aziraphale sputtered. Though thoroughly dismayed, the angel did nothing to impede Crowley's movements. He stood still and allowed the demon to fully unbind the corseted waistcoat, he soberly helped in pulling both his cream jacket and now undone girdle off and mutely watched the pair of garments be tossed onto his couch. Crowley crowded in close and laid his hands on either side of Aziraphale's waist, causing the angel to squirm a little at the touch. Crowley had not let his fingers idle in place, slipping them over the curves of Aziraphale's hips to spread wide over the front of the angel's broad thighs for a matter of seconds before dragging them up to slide in at the junction where thigh met groin. 

"I want you to ignore that bastard's words, angel," Crowley breathed. "Every word, _any word_ spoken to spite you. He has no appreciation for good things." Aziraphale felt his skin prickle at the gentle caresses and shivered at the goosebumps rising in response. His own hands found purchase on Crowley's shoulders, giving the demon unspoken permission to continue touching however and wherever he wished. 

Crowley took full advantage of the opportunity given him. He watched Aziraphale's every blink and breath and wiggle for any signs of discomfort, any signs to stop, but none came. Permission granted, Crowley let his fingers skitter to the buttons of Aziraphale's trousers and slipped the discs of mother-of-pearl through their holes. He tugged the pale button-up out from where it had been so primly tucked in, his fingers making short work of the too-many buttons on the shirt. He undid the tartan bow at Aziraphale's throat, slipped it off, then reached to grasp Aziraphale's hands in his, lowering them only long enough to pull the raiment down and off plump arms. 

Careful to keep one eye on the setting around them, Crowley eased Aziraphale backward until the backs of his knees met the cushions of the sofa. With one gentle push, the angel fell and the demon knelt between his knees. Crowley pulled the dark glasses from his eyes and tossed them aside before spreading Aziraphale's thighs wide enough apart for him to settle close, to wrap his arms around the generous belly and press in to shower featherlight kisses against the skin. 

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale sighed, a pleased sound, and smoothed the fingers of one hand through the silky locks of his partner. Crowley rose on his knees to scatter kisses up higher, up over Aziraphale's belly rolls, over his wide bust, up his throat to meet the angel's full lips. 

"You are made of all good things, angel," Crowley cooed. "All those little things that make you happy, the sweets and wines and lunches and dinners and picnics," Every single lovely thing he listed off was emphasized with a kiss. Crowley continued on, whispering talk of tailored suits and old books and great composers into Aziraphale's mouth. Finally, Aziraphale held Crowley still, preventing him from going on with his seemingly unending list of all the things Aziraphale loved. 

"I'll try to remember it," His smile was soft and sincere. Crowley, satisfied, placed one last kiss on Aziraphale's lips before he stood. He bent fluidly to pluck the corseted waistcoat from the pile of clothes tossed nearby and held the thing up with a smirk.

"You are never wearing this again, all right?" He said, snapped his fingers and made the garment disappear. "If you're going to wear a corset, you're going to wear one made to fit you. I'll even help you pick one out." Aziraphale blushed rose and nodded once in agreement.


End file.
